


walk the mile until the end starts

by cave_canem



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 01:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11933910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cave_canem/pseuds/cave_canem
Summary: A kitsune and a werecoyote walk into a bar.The rest, as they say, is history.





	walk the mile until the end starts

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was: "Are you drunk?"
> 
> This is my first malira fic, so I'm sorry if the characterization isn't the best. Let me know!

She’s conscious of the weight of someone else’s elbow, close to her on the counter, but it’s the words shouted in her ear that startle her.

“Are you drunk?”

Kira blinks up at Malia’s face in time to see the concern disappear.

“No, you’re not,” Malia sighs, answering her own questions. “Because kitsunes can’t get drunk.”

“Don’t say it so _loud_ ,” Kira says with a wince.

She can’t help a nervous glance around the room, but the nightclub is packed and noisy. Then again, it’s in its very essence to be full of people dancing, and drinking, and generally not in the mood to acknowledge such words as _kitsune_.

Malia snorts and pushes until the man leaning against the counter behind her moves with an irritated scowl.

“They don’t care,” she says with a dismissive gesture. “What are you drinking if you’re not drunk?”

“Virgin mojito.” Malia makes a face, but doesn’t hesitate when Kira asks, “Want to try?”

The plan, innocent, was for Malia to slide in closer, try it and maybe change her mind and smooth the disgusted wrinkles of her nose. Like most things in Kira’s life, it backfires.

Malia reaches for the glass at the same time Kira does, trying to be a considerate person and _maybe_ to laugh at her friend when it’s clear that the minty smell is affecting her. They end up tugging at it both until it spills on Kira’s hand and the counter.

“Did you get any on your clothes?” Malia asks, pulling at Kira’s jacket to see her shorts underneath.

“No it’s okay, just—thank you.”

She accepts the small stack of napkins and tries to dry her hands and the wood—god, she’s gonna have sticky fingers, gross; she shouldn’t have ordered that, why didn’t she get a water?—and leaves them in a little pile on the counter because she doesn’t know what to do with them, with her hands, with herself.

“It’s good,” Malia says, playing with the straw.

There’s a little smudge of red lipstick on the glass where Kira ruined eighty percent of the make-up she put on before going out, and a clearer trace where Malia drank directly over it. Kira tries not to think about what it could mean, what it _does_ mean—

“You can have the rest.”

“Why are you out there moping if you’re not drunk?”

Malia doesn’t often say thanks or sorry or please; her blunt honesty still amazes Kira after years of friendship, because she can’t quite imagine ever working out that particular branch of self-centeredness not to care excessively about how she comes across to people. It’s not a learned skill, that she knows, which makes it all the more endearing. She knows that years of regression spent in the wild are at cause, but sometimes Kira thinks Malia may have an easier time living in their society than she does.

 _You have time to learn_ , her mother says in her head, reminding her why she was moping in the first place.

She shrugs instead of answering, though, because even if she’s not the most confident she still has _hope_ , and telling Malia “because I’m an immortal who will outlive all of you but I’m still _terrified_ I’m wasting time and opportunities” doesn’t sound like a step in the right decision.

Or maybe it is; maybe Malia, and her always surprising logic, will take the leap Kira’s been thinking about but never really taking.

Eyes on the black plastic straw Malia manhandles with her nails, Kira says:

“I’m considering.”

“Considering.”

“Weighing pros and cons… You know.”

“Not really. Is it another of those understatements the whole world seems to understand except for me?” Malia stabs at an ice cube with the straw. “You gotta be clearer if you want me to follow you.”

 _Run, run, jump_ , Kira’s mind whispers. _You’re a badass kitsune, go get what you want_.

The voice sounds suspiciously like Lydia, which only makes Kira hesitate more. The words that come out of her mouth seem to have missed the entire area of her brain dedicated to brain-to-mouth filter, and she wonders for a moment if her drink wasn’t alcoholic after all.

“You know that scene in Wonder Woman when she wants to steal the God Killer?” Kira waits a second for Malia’s nod, because they both went to see that movie two days ago and she knows Malia remembers. “And she’s on the cliff opposite the tower, and you _know_ something’s going to happen, because she start running and the music picks up, and then she _does_ jump—”

“Oh, and she lands in front of the goat!”

“Yes, and it was just practice, because then she jumps for real and it’s incredible.”

“I remember. So what?”

“I feel like I haven’t even started running for my practice jump,” Kira says slowly.

Trying to put words on feelings is a tricky experience, and even more so when she couples it with a weird and long metaphor. She wishes she could be as skilled as Malia at expressing herself; that she could, with a few words and a simple conception of life, even everything out.

“If you wanna jump,” Malia says slowly, twirling her glass, “I know a place that does bungee jumping. You’re attached by the feet and there’s a lake underneath—it’s awesome.”

It sounds frightening and delightfully tempting.

“I didn’t mean _literally_ ,” Kira says. “I just—nevermind.”

She doesn’t realize she’s avoiding Malia’s gaze until she finds herself distracted by the napkins. She has wet paper fluff under her nails by the time she’s done shredding the first one, and she genuinely regrets ever setting a foot out of her house.

“Hey,” Malia says, snatching a clean napkin out of Kira’s hands. “I know you didn’t mean it literally, I just thought that we could go there, seeing as… you know.”

 _I really don’t_ , Kira thinks, blinking. Malia seems to understand anyway, because she heaves a huge sigh and says:

“I’m a werecoyote, remember? I can smell emotions.”

Kira tries to quell the spike of panic as her mind makes sense of the words.

“Uh,” isn't her most eloquent answer, but it's the best she can come up with at that time, and it seems to work, because Malia keeps talking.

“I know exactly what you mean,” she says, leaning in. Her eyes are serious but she has that slight smirk, like when she knows she has a great comeback. “And I know it's because you want to ki—”

Kira’s hand shoots up before she can think of it.

“Don't,” she says, barely even noticing how still Malia has grown under her fingers. “Sorry, but don't—don't make fun of me.”

“I'm not making fun of you!”

Malia's lips rubs awkwardly against Kira’s palm when she talks, and she looks so offended that Kira feels hope pointing its pointy nose.

“You're serious?”

“I wouldn't tell you that if I didn't wanna kiss you either,” Malia huffs. “Move your hand, it's blocking the way.”

“What?”

“I'm gonna kiss you, dummy.”

Kira moves her hand.

She folds them in her lap, then rethinks the height of the stools and the angle she has to lean forward, and places one on the bar, affecting casualty. _How do people flirt?_ she wonders for a mad second. She raises one hand to her hair, fiddling with the rubber band holding her braid.

She does her best not to squeal when Malia hooks her heel in the legs of her stool and brings her closer with a lurch. Taking hold of Malia's hand for balance is instinctive, and rewarded by a toothy grin.

“Well?” Kira says. “I'm waiting.”

She doesn't wait for long. Malia's lips are hotter than her hand, and wetter, too. She presses a quick kiss first, draws away just enough that Kira misses the weight of her lips, and comes back with a new kind of energy.

It's gentler than Kira expected, kissing Malia, and much more intoxicating. They're at a club and there's mint syrup on Kira’s fingers, but Malia splays her hands on her cheeks, brushes one finger against her ear, and it doesn't matter.

Malia is close enough that there is no danger in leaning forward, so Kira puts her hand on Malia's knee and her weight on her hand, and deepens the kiss.

Their tongues brush and Kira gasps. Malia finds the tail of her braid, deftly slides the hair band off, and Kira smiles when Malia weaves her fingers in. She curls her tongue just so, and Malia _shivers_.

The music changes; they break apart.

“Are we stopping? Why are we stopping.”

“We're in public,” Kira points out. She feels winded, like she could fall in bed at any time, and pumped up, like she could go bungee jumping in a lake.

“They're all doing worse.”

Malia makes a sweeping gesture to prove her point, but Kira doesn't look. She knows Malia's right, but she also knows it doesn't matter, because this, right there, is so much more important.

“Let's go home,” she says instead, biting her lips to contain her blush—nobody cares because _she_ doesn't care, isn't it how it goes?

Malia is quick to jump off her stool, Kira follows, surprised at the steadiness of her own knees, and they all but burst into the clear night.

“Come on,” Malia says as they make their way down the empty street. “We're definitely going bungee jumping tomorrow.”

“Our first date?” Kira feels emboldened to ask, because she knows the answer to that one.

She doesn't wait for an answer to put her arm around Malia's waist, but she still smiles when she gets it.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [youaretoosmart](http://youaretoosmart.tumblr.com)


End file.
